Naruto: Starting as the Third Hokage with Tears in His Eyes

Chapter 508 The sword is sheathed, our paths diverge.

Yahiko's nose turned red, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The thin layer of tears shone brightly in the campfire, almost impossible to deceive.

"Okay, okay."

Nagato spoke softly, her tone like soothing a cat caught in the rain. "Even though it's been a long time since we've been together, don't cry..."

"Go! Go! Go!"

Yahiko suddenly turned his head.

He sniffed hard, his voice rough and muffled, "Who's crying! Got some sand in their eye!"

"...This area is grassland, there is no sand."

"That's... ash! Ash got in!"

"Okay, good. It's gotten dusty."

Nagato did not ask any further questions.

He simply tilted his head slightly, letting his red hair block Yahiko's view from that side—so that if someone passed by, they wouldn't see the captain's disheveled state.

Xiao Nan walked over and silently handed over a handkerchief.

Yahiko took it, turned his back, and vigorously wiped his face twice.

The firewood in the bonfire popped with a soft "pop." A cluster of sparks shot up, drifted into the night sky, and went out.

---

Six figures converged at the very edge of the camp, naturally coming together.

The campfire seemed to shrink by half an inch at that moment.

The ninjas who had been whispering among themselves fell silent one by one.

Years of tacit understanding do not require language to coordinate.

Tsunade had changed into short clothes that were suitable for long-distance travel, her leg wraps were tied up neatly, and her golden ponytail was tied high at the back of her head.

She crossed her arms, raised her chin slightly, and looked past the firelight at the edge of the camp to the northwest—where the endless rocky mountains of the Land of Earth lay.

The dark mountain ridges cut across the sky like a row of dull teeth.

Orochimaru was half a step to her right, his pale, slender fingers slowly adjusting his collar.

His golden vertical pupils swept over the distant, heavy mountain shadows, and the curve of his lips was extremely faint—between interest and indifference, as if he were examining an unopened piece of experimental equipment.

Jiraiya stood on the far right.

His hands were in his pockets, and he leaned slightly forward, like a horse with its reins pulled.

White hair hangs down his back, and his hands hang naturally at his sides.

His posture was steady yet relaxed, like an old pine tree that had taken root.

opposite.

Danzo silently adjusted the protective gear on his wrist.

He pulled each strap to a perfectly symmetrical tightness, as precise as if he were calibrating the scale lines on an engineering drawing.

After making this gesture, he raised his eyes, his gaze passing over the campfire and landing on Sakumo.

No words were spoken.

It was just a very brief, sharp eye contact.

There was something indescribable in his eyes—it wasn't concern, though Shimura Danzo wouldn't use that word. Nor was it entirely competition.

It's more like a final confirmation from one old rival to another.

Be careful.

Sakumo caught that look in his eyes.

They didn't say anything.

His lips twitched very slightly, so slightly that it was almost invisible in the firelight.

Uchiha Kagami stood between the two, his gentle gaze encompassing everyone present.

His breathing was steady, and his posture was composed.

But deep within those gentle black eyes, the dark markings of the Sharingan silently spun once.

This is a habit of confirming that the surroundings are safe.

This was also the last protective scan he performed on this camp.

everything is normal.

No threat.

well.

Near the campfire not far away, Dai Tu's hand, which was munching on dried fruit, froze in mid-air.

He couldn't describe the feeling.

The six people simply stood there. They didn't form hand seals, release chakra, or use any ninjutsu.

He didn't even exude any murderous aura.

But that feeling—

It was like six mountains rising from the ground at the same time.

Calm.

The crackling sound of the campfire became exceptionally clear.

Tsunade took the first step.

She left behind two words—

"I'm gone."

Swift and decisive, like her fist.

Orochimaru's lips curled into a smile.

The curve was faint, but anyone who knew him well knew that it was the expression he only showed when facing a promising topic.

"I heard that Iwagakure's geological archives are in the third generation's office building."

He muttered something unrelated to the main point, then followed Tsunade's steps, his black robe billowing silently in the night wind.

Jiraiya was the last to set off.

His steps faltered.

His right hand unconsciously pressed against the front of his robe—which contained the things he had recently received from his disciples.

The character "晓" (dawn) drawn by Yahiko. The paper crane folded by Nagato. And the paper flower that Konan pinned to his collar, which he secretly plucked and tucked into his bosom.

The thin piece of paper, through the fabric of my clothes, was pressed against my heart.

Jiraiya straightened his back.

He strode after them, inserting himself between Tsunade and Orochimaru.

The three figures stood in front, in the middle, and behind, their spacing perfectly forming the standard combat formation for a three-person squad.

No one had deliberately adjusted it; the muscle memory left over from when the Third Hokage led them was more effective than any command.

Night fell from beneath their feet.

First, there was Tsunade's golden hair ends, then Orochimaru's pale robe hem, and finally Jiraiya's white hair that gleamed a cold silver in the moonlight.

The three ninjas disappeared into the darkness to the northwest.

Towards Iwagakure (Hidden Stone Village), towards the Land of Earth.

"..."

Sakumo Hatake lowered his head and looked at his hands.

Right hand.

That hand that had just gripped the White Fang Dagger again tonight.

Thin calluses from years of tilling the soil remain on his knuckles, overlapping with old scars from the earlier, darker era—the new covering the old, but the old never truly disappearing.

He raised his head.

Looking beyond the light of the campfire, I gazed at the crooked pine tree thirty paces away.

Kakashi leaned against the tree trunk.

With his hands in his pockets, his silvery-white hair swayed slightly in the night breeze, and a mask covered most of his face, revealing only a pair of half-closed black eyes.

Those eyes are looking this way.

Sakumo simply raised his right hand slowly and reached behind him—his fingertips lightly tapping the scabbard of the White Fang short sword.

"Yes."

A sound.

A crisp, brief metallic sound.

He was almost invisible in the noisy camp.

But Sakumo knew that with Kakashi's hearing, he must have heard it.

That was a sentence that was never spoken.

"I'm gone."

The boy leaning against the tree trunk twitched very slightly on the shoulder.

Beneath the mask, his lips moved silently for a moment.

Ok.

Shuo Mao withdrew his hand.

He turned around.

Danzo had already stopped to his left, his cold gaze fixed on the boundless sandy land to the southwest, his brows furrowed as if he were estimating the depth of the desert's aquifer.

Uchiha Kagami nodded quietly on the right, conveying a simple signal with the tacit understanding between long-time comrades-in-arms—

It's time to go.

The three people took steps at the same time.

There was no farewell, no extra sound.

Only the scabbard of the White Fang Short Sword swayed gently behind Sakumo as he walked.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound grew farther and farther away, fainter and fainter.

Ultimately, it was swallowed up by the noise of the campsite and the night wind.